


Canines and Post-Nautical Anxiety

by kazoobard



Category: Community
Genre: Gen, M/M, Nightmares, PTSD, Panic Attacks, service dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:16:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27487927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazoobard/pseuds/kazoobard
Summary: Troy struggles with panic attacks, so he and Abed adopt a service dog.
Relationships: Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir
Comments: 4
Kudos: 78





	Canines and Post-Nautical Anxiety

**Author's Note:**

> based on this wonderful drawing from @EGGBI7E on twitter. https://twitter.com/eggbi7e/status/1284570459703517184?s=21

“Abed?”

The voice is too loud. It’s slurred and slow, and hurts Troy’s head. His whole body is seizing up, freezing and sweaty. His head swings around, independent of his will, and scans the crowd. All he sees are watercolor portraits of people, blurred faces screaming at him and each other.

He’s alone. Something tips to the side. It might be him. A sharp pain shoots through his shoulder. “LeVar? Abed?”

The watercolor people are taller, threatening to hurt him. He’s surrounded. There’s no way out. He’s going to die.

Everyone is screaming. They’re getting closer. Their faces distort and shift, wet wax in a lit candle.

A figure pushes forward and crouches in front of him. “Troy? What’s wrong?”

Troy scrambles back, finds there’s nowhere to go. A sob escapes him, and someone grabs his hand. “Troy, honey, look at me.”

Abed. It’s Abed.

Troy feels cold wetness on his cheeks, and it occurs to him that he might be crying.

“Troy? Troy, look at me. It’s going to be okay.”

He whimpers.

“What’s your name?”

He is going to die. They are going to kill him.

“Do you know your name?”

Troy feels his head nod.

“It’s okay. I’m right here. Can you tell me what your name is?”

“T...” The colors are too bright. Hundreds of eyeballs stare at his body, he can see them, he can feel them. They’re all yelling to each other. They won’t be quiet. They won’t...

“Look at me, okay? What’s your name?”

“...Troy Barnes.”

“Good. Okay. Where are we?”

“I don’t know.” Blood is pounding in his ears. He’s falling backward, fast. His body stays put. He can’t breathe. He’s disconnected from his lungs. How is he going to breathe without his lungs?

———

The ambulance arrives one thousand years later. A paramedic kneels in front of Troy, helps him slow his breathing, eventually pulls him out of the seemingly endless loop of fear and dread.

Troy sits in the back of the ambulance now, tired and embarrassed. He has a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, after Abed’s insistence. He’s talking to the other paramedic now.

“I came out of the store and he was on the ground, he was just shaking. He didn’t know where he was.”

Troy stares at his shoes dangling off the side of the ambulance and halfheartedly kicks them together. He wishes he’d just gone inside with Abed, just dealt with the humiliation of walking into a convenience store whose display he’d knocked over the previous week. It would have been better than this.

The paramedic clears his throat. “Okay. And you’re his friend?”

Abed pauses, decides to take the safe route. “Yeah.”

“Can you call his family?”

“They live in Colorado. I live with him, I can take care of him.”

The words cause a ball to form at the pit of Troy’s stomach. He doesn’t want to be taken care of. He doesn’t want to embarrass himself any further. Abed has a hard enough time with his own sensory issues, he shouldn’t have to be responsible for Troy’s panic.

Troy curls in on himself, drawing the blanket closer. He draws in a deep breath, trying desperately not to cry.

———

The next few months are slow and painful. The panic attacks become frequent, his nightmares more terrifying. More than once, he wakes up in Abed’s arms, shaking and screaming while Abed shushes him and rocks him back to sleep.

He didn’t think it was that bad when it happened. The pirates were terrifying, of course, but he was Clone Troy at the time. Clone Troy was brave, Clone Troy could handle it. Clearly, Regular Troy can’t.

He bounces around doctors and psychiatrists for a while, until one of them suggests a service dog. He likes the idea.

Troy meets Abed outside the building, smiling a little at Abed’s hands, working fast at a stim toy to keep himself calm. Troy, as always, insisted he didn’t have to come. Abed, as always, insisted.

“Hey.”

Abed looks up. “Hi.”

“She said we should look into a service dog for me.”

Abed’s eyes light up. “Can we name it after a Star Wars character?”

“Yes!”

———

His name is Chewbacca.

It took months to get him– research on agencies and breeds and brands of dog food took over their entire lives. But now he’s here, and he’s perfect.

Chewbacca is humungous. He’s big and goofy and soft, his shaggy brown hair leaving an impression on the floor from the moment he burst through the apartment door.

There was a brief argument about whether to let him on the furniture, but Troy and Abed ultimately decide it would be unfair to regulate him to the floor. Which is why he’s laying all the way across the couch now, Troy and Abed fitting around him like puzzle pieces, their hands rubbing all over his shaggy coat.

“He’s like a big rug.”

Abed rests his head against Chewbacca’s side, closing his eyes. “Yeah. A big stinky rug.”

Troy laughs. “Yeah, we should probably not give him those Pup-eronis anymore.”

Abed reaches for Troy’s closest hand and threads their fingers together. Troy sighs contentedly, gazing at Abed. “This is so cool. I love you.”

“I know.” Then, a moment later, “I love you, too.”

———

“Troy? Troy!”

Troy thrashes around, suddenly aware of the room he’s in. He reaches out in the dark, searching for his boyfriend. “Abed?”

“I’m here. Chewie, come up here.”

Troy hears a soft jangling and feels a warm weight near his feet. He sits up, reaching out to thread his fingers into Chewbacca’s fur, taking a shaky breath.

Abed rubs his back. “Are you okay?”

“Can we do the sandwich thing?”

“Of course.” Abed guides Troy back down into a laying position, and wraps his arms around him. He pats the empty space behind Troy, and Chewie takes his place there.

They’re silent for a while. Troy thinks Abed might have fallen asleep, but he still whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I went on this trip and I was supposed to come back and be... different. And better. But I have these stupid nightmares and I can’t even go to the beach with you and... I’m sorry.”

Abed rubs over Troy’s arm and kisses his forehead, taking his time before he answers. “You are different. You’re more confident now.”

“I am?”

“You hold my hand in public. You stand up for yourself. You use your real sneeze. And I don’t like the beach so it’s not something to worry about.”

Troy reaches behind him to lay a hand on Chewbacca. He’s quiet, so Abed keeps talking.

“I know you feel like a burden, but you’re not. You did a really brave thing, and it’s okay that it’s still affecting you.”

Troy buries his face in Abed’s chest. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Can we talk about this more in the morning?”

“Okay.”

Chewbacca wiggles closer to Troy, and he closes his eyes. “I love you.”

“You just said that. I love you, too.”

“I was talking to Chewie.”

“Do you love Chewbacca more than me?”

“Chewbacca never made me return an ATV.”

“Annie made you return it, I held you while you cried.”

“Do you think we could teach Chewie how to drive an ATV?”

Abed holds Troy closer. “Probably. We should Google ‘dog ATV’s’ tomorrow.”

“I love you so much.”


End file.
